It was already late at night in Konoha.
The faint moonlight was veiled behind thick clouds, most lanterns extinguished, leaving only one light still burning brightly in the darkness.
Leaves rustled in the night wind as a Root ninja codenamed "Owl" concealed himself among the branches, eyes fixed on a distant, illuminated window.
Through the slats of the study's blinds, he could see the boy named Hyūga Arata bent over his desk, the warm glow of a lamp reflecting off the cover of his diary.
According to Intel, the kid had been writing in that diary for years, without fail.
"Meow."
The faint cry of a cat mixed with the chirping of insects made "Owl" frown warily. He turned toward the sound and saw two dark shapes stacked atop each other, two cats meowing enthusiastically.
"..."
He silently averted his gaze, feeling ridiculous for being so cautious; his target was just a child.
But despite thinking that, he couldn't help recalling what happened to "Weasel." The image of that man's mangled, armless body made a chill run through his spine.
He must never underestimate anyone. He didn't want to end up like that.
Just then, Arata stopped writing, glanced at the clock, rubbed his reddened eyes, clipped his pen into the diary's leather strap, and left the study.
Click.
The bedroom door closed softly, and the light went out. The entire house sank into darkness.
"Owl" didn't move, keeping perfectly hidden among the trees.
Only after he heard the faint sound of snoring from afar did he finally drop his hand from the sensory ninjutsu seal and silently flicker to the window like a falling leaf.
The opened window creaked faintly as "Owl" slipped in noiselessly. He first stored the diary into a scroll, then began a silent search through the study.
He didn't try to assassinate Arata like "Weasel" had, and when he found nothing suspicious in the room, he decided the diary alone would suffice.
He restored everything to its original state and was about to leap out the window when,
"Who's there!"
A sharp voice exploded in his ear. "Owl's" pupils contracted instantly.
Before he could react, a piercing rush of wind shrieked from behind him, like the wail of a vengeful ghost.
"Wind Release: Gale Cut!"
Shh!
He barely dodged, but a crescent-shaped blade of wind sliced past him. Blood splattered across the wall, painting a crooked crimson arc. A thin red line stretched along his arm,
Thud!
, until it burst, spraying blood like a broken fountain. His severed arm hit the ground with a dull thump.
"Owl" groaned, his body trembling violently. Ignoring his fallen arm, he leapt straight out the window.
But after he fled, the black cat that had been playfully perched on another cat froze. Its pale eyes gleamed, watching "Owl's" retreating form. It swatted the other cat away with an irritated paw.
"If you want to take something… you should always leave something behind."
Inside the bedroom, Hyūga Arata lowered his hands from the sealing gesture. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he waited for the familiar system chime.
Meanwhile, clutching his bleeding stump, "Owl" reached a mountainside, triggered a hidden mechanism, and entered the shadowy depths of Root's underground base.
As he descended deeper underground, damp moss and trickling water lined the walls. The air grew heavy and moist, but oddly, it felt safe. Like returning home.
"That guy's strength is no joke… no wonder Weasel lost an arm to him."
He grimaced at his bleeding wound, fear mingling with awe.
The vast underground chamber was as bright as daytime.
Through a large observation window, he could see masked researchers in white coats busily working. Rows of glass storage units held various "materials," unnamed reagents, and petri dishes containing cells and tissue samples.
Nearby were glass tanks filled with green fluid; some held bizarre plant specimens, others preserved chunks of animal organs: eyeballs, kidneys, and other grisly parts.
And beyond the glass stood Shimura Danzo himself, expressionless, his single exposed eye glimmering with darkness as he glared at the experiment table.
On that table rested a thumb-sized chunk of pale flesh, tissue from the First Hokage's cells.
A researcher turned and shook his head.
Danzo's face darkened. His hand instinctively went to his wrapped arm.
"Useless trash," he muttered coldly. "Without Orochimaru, you're all worthless."
Everyone thought that arm of his was crippled from battle, but in truth, it wasn't his arm at all.
Even Danzo didn't know its origin. Orochimaru had kept his mouth shut, saying only that it was a "byproduct" of his Wood Release cultivation experiments.
Desperate for power, Danzo had accepted the transplant, filling it with all his spare Sharingan.
But the Hashirama cells were far more invasive than he expected. In only a few years, they'd nearly consumed the arm entirely.
No one understood how Orochimaru had stabilized it. They only discovered that the Sharingan could barely suppress the cells' aggression.
At this rate, his remaining eyes wouldn't be enough to hold them back.
"Damn it," Danzo cursed. "If 'A' hadn't been taken by Sarutobi, he could've gone after Hatake Kakashi's Sharingan next."
As he brooded over where to get more eyes, "Owl" appeared beside him, kneeling with a trembling voice: "Lord Danzo."
The stench of blood hit Danzo's nose, and his expression hardened when he noticed the missing arm.
"Another arm?"
For a moment, even Danzo, whose own arm was wrapped and damaged, felt oddly targeted. Shaking off the thought, he took the scroll and waved the man away.
"Owl" hurried off to treat his wound. Danzo unrolled the diary and skimmed it.
He wanted to understand this supposed "failure" of the Hyūga clan, whether Arata was worth recruiting.
Most entries were trivial daily notes. Danzo read quickly, forming a mental profile:
A timid, weak boy who, after his father was driven to suicide by his clan, began to crave power.
'Craving power, good.'
He only despised those with no ambition.
He read the section where Arata wrote a "message" to Hiruzen Sarutobi, and his lips twisted with scorn and jealousy.
'That hypocrite Hiruzen didn't deserve such words.'
Then his eyes paused at one line about "roots."
When he turned the page, however, one sentence made him freeze completely, his gaze locked, expression subtly shaken.
"Perhaps my heart is like a tree, the higher it reaches for the light, the deeper its roots must grow… into the soil, into the darkness."
At that same moment, in Arata's bedroom,
The familiar ding! echoed in his mind.
[Ding! Your lie has been judged as "Silver Tongue." Shimura Danzo has developed emotional resonance, 'Considers You a Kindred Spirit.' You gain 400 Reality Points.]
"Who even writes a real diary, anyway?" Arata smirked and murmured, "Manifest ninjutsu, Lightning Release Armor."
[Consume 1000 Reality Points?]
"Yes."
[1000 points deducted. Remaining: 10,593.]
'Nice. Still over ten thousand left. Thank you for your contribution, 'Lord' Danzo.'
Arata lay back, closing his eyes as knowledge of the Lightning Release Armor poured into his mind.
But as he drifted off, one lingering thought resurfaced,
"If I can manifest ninjutsu… then maybe… I can manifest powers from other worlds, too?"
He'd already tried, but direct manifestation beyond the world's logic didn't work. The system only functioned within the rules of chakra.
Still, he had a theory.
"What if I mimic the powers of other worlds, using the existing frameworks of soul, body, nature energy, and chakra?"
If he could truly create something entirely new, shattering everyone's understanding of reality, then the RealityPoints he'd earn would be immense.
In truth, his manipulations involving Orochimaru were part of testing that theory.
For example, the Sage of Six Paths had created the Pure Land.
Could Arata, through lies and Reality Points, create the ninja world's version of the Hueco Mundo?
The "Hueco Mundo" from Bleach, a void between the living world and Soul Society, where "Hollows," tormented souls turned monsters, devoured each other for power.
Arata planned to graft that fabricated world onto the real Pure Land.
A lie mixed with truth, three parts falsehood, seven parts reality. That's the art of deception.
After all, he'd eventually have to confront the Sage of Six Paths himself, and stealing part of that power would be ideal.
But to complete the concept, he'd need the help of dear Orochimaru.
With the scroll as bait, the snake's expertise in soul research would surely produce a coherent theory, a logic Arata could then turn into real, binding "rules."
He would become like the Sage of Six Paths, ruler of his own small world, master of countless powerful souls.